The streets were slush now with half ice, half mud.
Raika pulled the heavy fur coat tighter around her shoulders, the coarse leather creaking under her fingers. The cold was chewing through everything. Her boots crunched over frozen dirt, sliding just enough to keep her annoyed with each step.
And the sounds.
Gods, the sounds.
The tents she passed on either side were shaking from more than just the wind. Every few feet, another one would rock with the weight of bodies pressed together, muffled gasps, groans, and the slap of skin on skin cutting through the air like they weren't even trying to be quiet.
Hell, most of them weren't. Some of them didn't bother closing the flaps at all.
She scowled and tugged the fur collar higher, shadowing her face. It wasn't the first time she'd walked through this mess after a Mate Choosing Ritual. And it wasn't like she didn't know how Krepsuna handled sex.
It was strange, honestly. This species wasn't built on desire, not like the others she'd seen. Mating wasn't a thing they needed, at least not biologically. But tradition said this was the reward. You fought, you won, you earned a mate. And this? This was how they sealed it.
Raika didn't care. She told herself she didn't care.
She didn't flinch as a tent flap to her left opened wide and a woman staggered out, bare-chested, marked in runes that glowed faint in the cold. The woman's mate—some thick-armed warrior who had probably fought his weight in challengers that morning—followed her out, laughing as he dragged her back inside. Raika didn't look long. She never did.
This wasn't the first time. And it wouldn't be the last.
By the time she saw the log cabin ahead, her mood was hanging on by threads.
The tavern was one of the few permanent structures in the village, thick logs bound with iron nails, smoke rising from the great chimney. Raika stomped the muck from her boots at the threshold before shoving the heavy door open.
The heat hit her like a punch.
Smell of sweat, smoke and brewing mead rolled over her in waves. Inside, the place was packed. Warriors from the Northern Tribes filled the long tables, drinking, brawling and laughing. Some were already slumped over their mugs, snoring. Others were tangled in each other, their contests not quite finished despite the formalities being over.
The room stilled when they saw her.
Raika Spine. Twenty-one and still breathing. Some probably wondered how.
She said nothing, only met the stares with a glare of her own, daring anyone to speak. No one did. They turned back to their drinks, some muttering, some shaking their heads. She moved through them like smoke through a battlefield, threading toward the far side of the room where a single empty bench and table waited in the corner.
She sat. Alone. Just the way she liked it. Or told herself she did.
A server came by not long after. A male, younger than her, but not by much. His hands shook a little as he placed the wooden mug down in front of her. Steam coiled up from the surface of the mead, sweet and thick. He didn't meet her eyes when he said;
"On the house. Ice Rain's picking up. And, well… surviving the Chieftain's fists? Figured you earned it."
Raika let a slow smirk twist at her mouth. Not the cocky kind, not tonight.
"Yeah," she muttered, fingers curling around the mug. "All of that for nothing."
She tipped the drink back, the mead burning warm as it slid down. It didn't fill the hollow space inside her chest. It didn't take away the sting from Veyn's words, or the way he'd sat there, calm as a spring pond, telling her he was leaving. That he wanted to leave.
Raika slammed the mug down, the wood cracking under her grip.
And then she sat there. Just breathing, alone in a room full of people. Every one of them celebrating a victory.
And hers was walking away from her.
By the time Raika downed her ninth mug, she was sure she'd started to lose feeling in her tongue. And her fingers. And, honestly, her pride.
But it didn't matter. She was still upright and breathing. That counted.
The tavern had dulled into a blur. The laughter was duller, the slurred voices faded into one continuous hum like wind blowing through bones. Her eyes drooped lazily, half-lidded, as she spun the empty mug slowly on the warped wood table.
Until the sound stopped. And she realized the mug wasn't moving anymore.
Because someone's hand had stopped it.
Raika turned, sluggish and irritated, ready to bark out a sharp "Get lost" at whatever fool thought they could sit beside her but...
She froze.
The hooded woman was sitting next to her, like she'd always been there. She was calm, elbow resting against the table, fingers lightly tapping on its edge like she was waiting for the barkeep to bring her a drink. Except no one did.
Raika blinked then took a glance around.
No one was looking. Not one head turned in their direction. No shifting stares, no whispered murmurs. It was like they didn't see her. Or maybe they saw her, but didn't care.
It made Raika's skin crawl in that slow, creeping way.
The hooded woman angled her head and Raika couldn't see her eyes under the heavy shadows of her cloak. But she knew she was being stared at.
"Got dumped?" The woman asked casually. Her voice wasn't cold, or sharp, or anything Raika expected. It was almost… light. Like this was just some tavern gossip between old friends.
Raika snorted, the sound more bitter than she meant.
"Yeah. Got dumped," she muttered, leaning back against the creaking wood. "Thanks for rubbing it in."
There was a pause, then Raika added, "And we're not friends."
The woman nodded slowly. "True. We only met for a few minutes two and a half years ago."
"That's being generous," Raika said, one brow twitching upward. "You dragged my half-dead body out of a stampede, patched me up, and left me in my home cave. Thanks for that, by the way."
"You're welcome," the hooded woman replied. "And I was told to help you. I didn't want to see you die. I still don't."
Raika's mouth opened but it didn't come out. She sighed, staring down at her empty mug again. She didn't bother counting how many that was anymore.
"I thought I was doing fine," Raika said after a long silence. "We were fine. It was… simple. Me keeping him alive. Him being stubborn and decent and..."
The woman didn't speak. Didn't have to.
"I guess I got used to it," Raika continued, her words slurring around the edges just a little. "To him being there. Needing me to keep him safe. It made sense. Now he's leaving. Leaving me. And not even because of me."
She dragged a hand through her hair, knocking the hood of her fur coat back. The braids were messier now, a few strands falling loose against her cheek.
"He found something better."
Another pause.
"I hate the Central Tribe," Raika said, quiet this time. "They let Clan Spine burn."
The woman finally spoke again.
"And yet you're angry at him for going. Maybe you're angry because you think he's abandoning you. Or maybe you're angry because… you know he deserves better."
Raika shot her a hard look. "We met for a few minutes."
"You're easier to read when you're drunk," the woman replied. There might've been amusement in her tone. Hard to tell.
Raika gave a bitter laugh.
"And you? What's your story? Wandering around a tavern, sitting next to me, looking like you walked out of some executioner's song. You're supposed to be a servant of Peony's Apathy, aren't you?"
"I am."
Raika's stare hardened. "You're not going to kill me, are you?"
"If I was," the woman said, her tone a little too warm for comfort, "you'd already be dead."
"Comforting..."
The woman shrugged one shoulder beneath her cloak.
"I'm still trying to understand life, Raika Spine. I was imprisoned for decades. Locked away until I was found worthy enough to serve again. We both lost something."
Raika stared at her, the buzz of mead still in her veins, but not so thick that it dulled what she was feeling.
"I lost my home," Raika murmured. "I lost my clan. And now… I'm losing him."
"You are."
Raika scowled, "You're terrible at this."
"I'm not trying to be good at it," the woman replied. "I'm only trying to remind you that when things leave, something else always comes. Or returns."
Raika sat there, silent, gripping the handle of her empty mug.
"Stay indoors," the hooded woman said, standing as smoothly as she'd appeared. "The Ice Rain's coming stronger. Ten hours at least."
Raika looked up at her. "And if I don't?"
The woman didn't smile. "Then I'll have to kill you. Like you said, we only met for a few minutes and we're not friends."
And just like that, she turned and walked away, weaving between tables like a ghost. No one looked. No one saw her. Raika stared after her until the woman reached the door, stepped through it… and vanished.
Like she'd never been there.
Raika exhaled a shaky breath, shoved her mug away, and slammed her hand down to steady herself. Maybe she'd had more to drink than she thought.
Or maybe she hadn't had nearly enough.
"That woman scares me...